


Reconditioning

by bzarcher



Series: Rising Swan (The Odette AU) [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Confessions, Escape, F/F, Odette!AU, Talon Mooks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-21
Updated: 2016-09-21
Packaged: 2018-08-16 10:34:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8098828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bzarcher/pseuds/bzarcher
Summary: She had to find this little girl who somehow made her feel, and make Tracer show her how to keep feeling – or she had to end them both.Widowmaker honestly couldn’t decide which outcome she would prefer.





	

Widowmaker swung across the rooftops of Numbani, but she was not on an operation for Talon.

As far as her “support team” was aware, she was still ensconced in that penthouse they’d purchased for her in Bern, waiting to be activated. A weapon kept in storage until required.

Tonight, she was here for herself, and herself alone.

If someone had caught her disappearance, she would have likely fabricated a story about making a personal attempt to retrieve the Doomfist gauntlet, in a manner more likely to succeed than the previous mission.

(Honestly, she suspected the first attempt had been designed more to flush out Overwatch than to actually succeed. A broad daylight assault with a shotgun toting attack dog? Foolish and wasteful – a covert action after hours would have been far simpler, and had less risk of Gabriel becoming so focused on his quest to kill any Overwatch agent he found that he ignored any other objectives. No – that little “operation” had been about making a statement, and the lack of any punishment after they had “failed” seemed to confirm her suspicions.)

The fact that she was even able to have suspicions about her assignments, rather than blankly accepting, executing, and forgetting her orders was a red flag. If Talon knew that she’d begun to look at the larger picture – begun to _doubt_ – she would have been taken for “reconditioning” immediately.

Despite the relatively warm night, Widowmaker felt a chill down her back at the thought – and that, too, was a sign she was not functioning properly.

At one point, she’d reported such behavior when it occurred. Two days after she’d exulted in her success against Tracer and the artful shot she had used to eliminate the Omnic monk, she’d begun feeling a strange hollowness. She kept thinking of the girl’s eyes, brimming with tears and burning with anger as she’d demanded answers. What should have been a triumph became empty.

Her handlers had taken her from the villa in Italy where she’d been installed as a reward for a job well done. She had allowed herself to be blindfolded, restrained, and transported to a secure facility.

When she returned to the villa, Widowmaker was free of doubts once more. Her training scores were back to optimal marks, and it wasn’t long before she’d silenced more enemies of Talon, removing blocks to their progress.

Then came another fight with Overwatch – another sprawling rooftop chase and battle with Tracer – and even though she’d been forced to withdraw, she felt…excitement. A burning blaze where there should have been nothing but ice.

That time, she hadn’t reported immediately, but something in her manner after that feeling had faded – as what she could only call disappointment set in – had been enough to tip her hand.

She’d been taken for “treatment” in the early autumn.

When they’d returned her to a Talon base in China to prepare for operations there, winter had begun.

She had no memory of what had passed in that time, and though it had not bothered her at first, the awareness of more and more gaps in her memory began to grow. There were holes in her mind, and she had to keep herself tightly controlled, or she was likely to suffer even more.

It was after another fight with Overwatch – this time while trying to intercept an American military cargo train – that Widowmaker had decided on her current plan. Even though she worked to keep herself collected and impassive to the outside world, her normally slow heart felt like a jackhammer as she came to the conclusion that she had to find Tracer, and she had to do it without allowing Talon to know.

She had to find this little girl who somehow made her feel, and make Tracer show her how to _keep feeling_ – or she had to end them both.

Widowmaker honestly couldn’t decide which outcome she would prefer.

Her grapple bit into the cornice of a building two blocks from the Numbani Heritage Museum, and she twisted herself into an acrobatic leap upwards just as the hook released itself, using her momentum to land on the rooftop.

Widowmaker gave herself a moment to listen for any sounds of moment or alarm, and smirked with a hint of satisfaction when there were none. Moving quietly, she positioned herself along the rooftop, raising the Widow’s Kiss to her shoulder and carefully examining the streets below.

Talon operatives had reported that Overwatch had been covertly sending operatives here, every few weeks, to ensure the safety of the Doomfist exhibit. The gauntlet was to remain on display for another two months, and then be “stored for safekeeping” in an undisclosed location.

The Numbani government had clearly made an agreement with Overwatch to provide the additional security, regardless of the PETRAS Act, and Talon predicted that undisclosed location would almost certainly be Watchpoint Gibraltar.

In all honesty, Widowmaker could care less about the gauntlet. But knowing where she could find Overwatch, without having to walk directly up to their front door? That was quite useful.

Now, all she had to do was wait – but to her surprise, what she was waiting for appeared almost immediately.

The old Crusader, Reinhardt, trying to walk like something other than a career soldier and failing. His broad frame and shock of white hair would be distinctive enough, but the loud Hawaiian shirt and dark cargo pants make for an arrestingly horrific outfit. A camera hangs around his neck, and he acts the perfect caricature of a tourist, snapping seemingly random pictures as he parades around.

“Honestly,” Widowmaker tuts to herself as she zooms her scope in, “ _vous en tenez comme un pouce endolori, imbécile._ ”

She doesn’t realize that she isn’t alone until a breath tickles the back of her neck, an amused voice almost purring in her ear. “Oh, but that’s the point, luv! Makes a cracking distraction for the likes of you.”

Widowmaker’s heart is almost out of control as a jolt of surprise runs through her. Rolling over by reflex, drawing her rifle tight to her chest as Tracer leaps backwards.

She tries to keep up the façade, pressing her lips tight, forcing her breath to stay even. “Ah, and what exactly do you consider ‘the likes of me’, _Cherie?_ ”

Tracer draws down on her with one pistol, the other hand rather casually against her hip, but her eyes convey exactly how ready she is to fight if Widowmaker gives her a reason. “Oh, y’know, the sneaky types who like to creep around on rooftops and go take things that aren’t theirs.” Her smile gets a bit cheeky, and for some reason the only thing that Widowmaker can think of is that the younger woman has surprisingly nice teeth for a Brit. Maybe she had them fixed? “A little surprised you didn’t have one of your little poison widgets waiting for me, though. Are you losing your touch?”

Widowmaker shrugs, feeling the rough brick behind her scrape against her exposed back. “Maybe I was hoping to be found.”

Tracer rolls her eyes. “If all you wanted was a bit of exercise, you could just buy a gym membership.”

“Not the same,” Widowmaker admits, and part of her wants to run – to SHOOT – to do anything but this. Some little part of her that Talon has crafted all too well knows that this girl is her enemy, and that all her enemies must die. She’s doing everything she can to push it down, keep it deep inside, and her voice trembles slightly as she speaks again. “It is not the same at all.”

Brown eyes washed almost amber beneath orange goggles widen slightly, and Tracer’s breath catches as she realizes that this really isn’t their usual song and dance number. “You’re not kiddin’, are you?”

“ _Non,”_ Widowmaker breathes, and it’s like a dam is breaking inside her, words almost tumbling over each other as she speaks. “Every time I see you, I stop…I stop being what I am supposed to be. I start thinking things I should not think! I start feeling things I shouldn’t feel! I stop being Widowmaker and I start being someone else, and I don’t know _why_ and it’s _because of **YOU!”**_

The last word is a shout, almost a scream as she pushes herself off the rooftop and actually throws her rifle down to the concrete in her frustration. Because she doesn’t trust herself with it.

 Widowmaker’s chest is heaving now, her altered heart and blood chemistry straining as she tries to contain herself after that burst of emotions.

“I stop being cold,” the assassin breathes, her voice ragged, “and it _hurts._ ”

Tears well in Tracer’s eyes as she holsters her pistol. She takes a half step forward, her own voice quiet. “Being alive will do that to you, luv.” She takes another step, and Widowmaker draws her arms up against her body, reflexively trying to protect herself against something she can’t name. “It hurts, it feels like you’re crazy, and you get scared. I’ve been there, believe me.”

She’s perhaps a foot away when the sound of booted feet hitting the rooftop make both women turn in surprise.

“We have acquired the primary target,” a black clad Talon commando reports to some unseen controller, a small squad fanning out behind him, “She’s engaged with an Overwatch asset.”

 _“Disable the Widowmaker,”_ the radio replies, a tinny echo coming in slightly disjointed chorus from their helmets, “ _terminate the rest.”_

Before Widowmaker or her former comrades can react, Tracer kicks the Widow’s Kiss up and into her hands, demonstrating her familiarity with her adversary by switching the rifle from sniping configuration to automatic fire even as she braces it against her and fires a burst at the Talon troops, sending them scrambling for what little cover they can find.

“Friends of yours, luv?”

“Not anymore,” the Widowmaker growls, and Tracer gives her that damned smile again before tossing the weapon over.

This time she does fire off a venom mine, launching from her wrist to embed itself into the industrial A/C unit that a few of the Talon commandos are hiding behind. She can hear them start to choke and cough on the poison it releases, but Widowmaker is already firing her grapple at one of the neighboring buildings, hoping to open up a little room to work.

She isn’t surprised to hear the sound of one of Tracer’s little bombs behind her, and the familiar zipping sound of pulse pistols is surprisingly comforting as she lands.

The Widow’s Kiss comes up, the scope meets her eye, and moments later the squad leader falls to the ground, a bullet hole centered neatly in between the glowing red optics of his helmet.

She lunges into a roll, not allowing the remaining shooters to draw a bead, managing to get behind a rooftop planter before the return fire sends sparks skittering across the rooftop.

There is a rush of air behind her, and she turns to see Tracer blinking into existence, the strange sound of her returning to reality following a heartbeat behind.

“Three left,” she reports as she crouches behind another planter, “I’ve got backup coming but it’ll take a few minutes. Reinhardt’s a darling, but he doesn’t suit up quite as fast as he used to.”

Widowmaker nods. Her heart is still filled with sensations she cannot put into words, but now it is mixed with that familiar rush of combat – her altered body flooded with dopamine and adrenaline as she must kill or be killed. She snaps the recon visor into place over her eyes, and the silhouettes of their remaining attackers bloom into life.

Before Tracer can say another word, she springs up, grapple firing upwards and finding purchase on a nearby windowsill. Sparks fly and plexisteel glass shatters as rifle fire tracks her ascent, but Widowmaker pays it no mind. Drawing her legs beneath her, she kicks off the building, flying into the night air at a new angle for a few seconds before gravity will reclaim her.

All the time she needs.

 _Un:_  a blood red eyepiece shatters.

 _Deux_ : a wet slapping sound as the top of a helmet disappears.

 _Trois:_  an armor piercing round finds the gap between two heavier plates, tearing through the light ballistic cloth beneath, stilling a heart, and shattering vertebrae.

She is falling, no time to reset the grapple, bracing herself for a painful landing, when there is a rush of air, and arms wrap tightly around her.

“ _Here we go!”_

There is an indescribable sensation, and suddenly they are only a few feet from the ground, most of the momentum gone. Both women go limp, and the landing isn’t pleasant, but it’s far less painful than it has any right to be.

“Bloody hell,” Tracer breathes as she looks at was once a Talon retrieval squad. “Remind me not to piss you off any more than usual.”

Widowmaker cannot help but laugh as she removes the recon visor, tossing it away. (Was that how they tracked her here? Does it even matter?) The grappling hook and mine launcher follow – and she suddenly realizes she’s done all of this while Tracer is straddling her hips.

That strange warmth spreads through her again, and she looks up, remembering a night not so long ago when they were in a similar position, above the streets of London.

That night, Tracer had been a breath away from ending her life.

Tonight, Tracer stands, a blush rising on her cheeks, and offers Widowmaker a new one.


End file.
